The Office: Christmas Morning
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Episode Tag to Season 2, Christmas Party. Pam and Jim overthink their Christmas gifts, then continues into AU territory. Romance/Humor/Mild Language/Mild Adult Content
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My Christmas gift to you—a tag for the Christmas episode in Season 2. **

**Christmas Morning**

On Christmas morning, before Roy got up and they made the two-hour drive to her parents' house for Christmas dinner, Pam went to the kitchen to make tea. Standing in her flannel pajamas and her fluffy robe, she put on the teakettle, and, opening the blinds, stared out at the foot of snow they'd gotten over night. She winced, remembering how she'd had to drive them home from Roy's parents' house, where they'd spent Christmas Eve. He'd been too drunk to drive, and she'd driven, white-knuckled, through the near white-out conditions, the rear of the truck fishtailing once or twice on the slick roads. Roy knew how much she hated to drive in bad weather, but he'd drunk too much anyway. Well, she'd leave it to him today to cuss and gripe all the way to Philly.

She sighed, catching the kettle just before it whistled so it wouldn't wake up Roy. She poured the hot water into her new teal blue teapot, and put in two bags of Christmas Blend to steep, then took the pot and her favorite mug into the living room. She'd brought Jim's gift home with her to use over the holiday, and she was excited to be able to use it at her desk in the office, so she wouldn't have to go back and forth to the kitchen so much. She'd mentioned that desire to Jim some time ago, and she was inordinately pleased that he'd remembered.

She turned on the Christmas tree lights and sat on the couch, propping her slippered feet up on the coffee table. Her eyes fell on the box her teapot had come in, where she'd set it under the tree, and on impulse, she got up to retrieve it. She tried to ignore the package from Roy that she'd open later, how it was a sweater-size box from JC Penney. No iPod for her this year, she supposed wistfully. To be fair, there was nothing special about what she'd gotten Roy either: new jumper cables and a gift card to a sporting goods store—but at least she'd gotten him something she knew he would like. She didn't have high hopes for the sweater.

She sat again with Jim's box, where she'd carefully transferred the sentimental contents he'd so carefully placed in the teapot. Her heart fluttered as she removed each item again—the mini golf pencil, the hot sauce packets, his yearbook picture, the Boggle timer. Every little gift was a memory, a sweet reminder of fun or silly moments she'd shared with Jim. As she studied everything spread out on the coffee table, she was struck by a sudden thought: these mementos had been saved by a man whose feelings went beyond friendship. Why else would he have kept such items, saving them like a lovesick maiden in a Jane Austen novel? The notion startled her at first, but then she let it settle over her like new-fallen snow.

_Jim loves me._

She felt the warmth of the idea suffuse her, melt her heart, and her hands went to her flushed cheeks.

Unbidden, the memories surrounding each gift skated through her mind, how she'd felt alternately happy, frustrated, or amused in those moments. But then, with a tremble, she allowed herself to go deeper, to remember how Jim had laughed or smiled at the time, how he'd looked at her with such obvious joy and affection. She'd tried to block out what those looks had really meant over the years, because, for one thing, she was engaged, but also because admitting what he felt would mean she would have to admit what _she _felt too. But she stopped short of pondering her own feelings toward Jim, stowing them away in the keepsake box in the back of her mind. Acknowledging what Jim had told her through his looks and actions was one thing; putting a name to her own feelings was just too much on this Christmas morning.

With a wistful sigh, she pulled out the last item from the box: the cassette tape, which he'd carefully labeled _Pam's Mix, Vol. 1._ With a grin, she bent and rummaged through the small drawer in the coffee table, pulling out the Walkman cassette player she'd kept for fifteen years. Guess Jim wasn't the only one who was nostalgic. Miraculously, the batteries still worked in the player, and she remembered not so miraculously that she'd put new ones in a few months back so she could listen to an old Hall and Oates tape she didn't have on CD. Oh, well, she thought, if she couldn't have an iPod, she could listen to what Jim had recorded for her. He'd always had good taste in music.

She put the tape in, put the old-fashioned headphones on, and pressed _play. _

She was surprised to hear Jim's deep voice so full in her ears, and she ignored how her heart skipped a beat at its smoothness, it's richness, its latent sexiness. He could make a good living narrating audio books.

"Hey, Beesly. Welcome to Volume 1 of your mix tape. Yes, I know it's very old school, and probably a little corny, and while I don't have a CD burner, I do still have a cassette recorder on my stereo. Coincidentally, each song on Side 1 corresponds to one of the gifts from your teapot; I'll leave it to you to remember which is which. Side 2 is self-explanatory, and since I'm betting you probably still have a Walkman somewhere, maybe you could use it until you get that new iPod you've been wanting. So, anyway…enjoy, and Merry Christmas!"

She laughed, then felt her eyes water. He truly knew her even better than—

But then the first song began to play, and her laughter forestalled the tears: "Islands in the Stream." She knew immediately this song went with the yearbook picture, because Jim had sung it with Michael the night of his barbecue. That had been one of the kindest things she'd ever seen Jim do. She could still feel the tenderness she'd felt for him in that moment, and her vision grew blurry once more. Despite his frequent annoyance and frustration with Michael, she'd never seen him be unkind to him.

The next song was "Yeah," by Usher, and at first that gave her pause. After a moment though, she knew that went with the pencil. She smiled. It had been blaring in the background that time he'd caught her cheating at mini-golf, when a bunch of them from the office had gone out on a Friday after work about three years before. It was in the early summer, she recalled. She remembered that Roy had chosen to go to Poor Richard's with the warehouse guys instead, saying mini-golf was for kids. Anyway, when Jim wasn't looking, she'd nudged her golf ball about a foot closer to the ninth hole. He'd realized it right away of course, and she'd vehemently and laughingly denied it. When he warned her not to give herself points for that hole, she'd thrown the pencil at him. Without the pencil, they'd stopped keeping score, racing through the rest of the course so they could go ride the go-carts. She could still remember how his long legs had barely fit inside the little car, how they'd strategically blocked Dwight from finishing first. She'd hummed "Yeah" on and off the rest of the night just to annoy him, because Jim had said how much he hated that song. She hadn't realized he'd kept the pencil.

Likewise with the hot sauce packets, that had burned her mouth so badly she'd had to spit out a big bite of hot dog in a very unladylike manner, and she remembered it was the first time she'd ever cussed in front of Jim. That was the week the hot dog vendor had parked his food truck at the corner outside the office building, what was it—two years ago? She'd gulped down her entire lemonade, coughing and sputtering, trying to get the burning sensation out of her mouth and throat. _Who the hell has hot sauce at a hot dog truck, especially in packets resembling ketchup?_ Jim being Jim, he'd brought her another hot dog and lemonade, (with mustard this time), and they'd sat on the curb and eaten, the vendor's radio tuned to the Black-Eyed Peas song, "Let's Get it Started."

"He also sells tacos out of his truck on alternate weeks," Jim had said, his eyes filled with barely contained laughter. "He'd put out the wrong box."

"Well that's no excuse," she'd replied, the corners of her mouth still burning. "I should sue for pain and suffering."

He'd grinned and stolen a Sun Chip from her bag. "Your second hot dog was free," Jim told her. "He felt really bad about it."

"Really?"

"Yep."

They'd finished their lunch in companionable silence, enjoying the sunny spring day.

"Same time tomorrow?" Jim had asked on their way back up the elevator.

"Yep," she'd said, but the truck had never returned. Jim still teased her that she'd scared him off with her loud cursing.

Then there was the Boggle timer, a tiny hourglass. Last fall, Pam had brought in the game after she'd gotten it for her birthday from her parents. Roy hated games, especially word games, so she'd challenged any takers in the office to play her in the breakroom at lunch. Jim, of course, had been the first volunteer. She'd won, and was challenged by Oscar, who then challenged Toby. By the second day, a tournament was organized, complete with a bracket Jim had drawn. By Friday, it was down to her and Jim, Oscar still fuming that she'd beaten him out. The winner of the tournament, Ryan cleverly suggested, could ask the loser to do whatever the winner wanted, but whatever it was had to take less than ninety seconds—the same time the sand allotted in the Boggle timer.

Jim had won.

After the applause and congratulations, everyone had begun making suggestions of Pam's ninety second punishment, some of them very inappropriate or fraught with innuendo—especially from Kevin. Jim, however, was not to be rushed.

"I'm gonna need to think about this," he'd said, tapping his lower lip, his hazel eyes bright and mischievous. She'd felt her cheeks flushing at the implied threat there, and she found herself suddenly very nervous.

"Okay, well, uh…you let me know."

"Yeah, Jim. Let us _all _know," said Kevin suggestively. "And if you need help deciding, I have _lots_ of ideas."

"Thanks, Kev."

Jim had let her stew the rest of the day, and from time to time she'd see him looking at her thoughtfully from his desk, as if evaluating, gauging what she could handle. When he'd catch her eye, he'd smile his widest, most charming smile, that instead of making her heart squeeze a little, made her stomach fill with butterflies. She began thinking about things that took ninety seconds, felt her cheeks go pink at some of her ideas. A nice kiss could last for ninety seconds, for example, but she knew in her heart she could trust Jim not to do something that would make her genuinely uncomfortable. _Would he?_

And would she really mind so much if he did?

Five o'clock rolled around at last, and he stopped by Reception on his way out.

"Well?" she asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

"Still thinking, Beesly. Give me the weekend."

"Seriously?" She'd been so on edge that her exasperation came out sounding more like annoyance.

He frowned, backed away a step. "Hey, never mind, okay? It was only a game, Pam. You don't have to—"

She took a calming breath, forced a smile. "No, you won fair and square. I don't renege on a bet."

He was skeptical of her feelings, but he nodded. "Have a nice weekend."

"You too."

She'd taken the Boggle timer home, began timing herself doing normal things around the house that Jim could conceivably ask of her. She found she could make a ham sandwich, or clean the toilet, or recite the Preamble to the Constitution in well under the time limit. She went outside and ran at a dead sprint for ninety seconds, found she could do that easily, barely breaking a sweat. She figured the stairs up to her apartment were about the same as the ones in the office, and she had no problem going up and down them in plenty of time. She even took her car to the carwash, found that she could do an adequate job of washing it in the allotted time. She began measuring out her life in ninety second intervals, driving Roy mad in the process until he got tired of seeing the damn Boggle timer everywhere.

"Knowing Halpert, he'll probably make you iron one of his pretty dresses," he'd said meanly, stealing a cherry tomato from the salad she was making Saturday night.

"Well that's homophobic," she'd chastised automatically. She'd long since stopped trying to prove that Jim wasn't gay, even though he'd met Jim's girlfriend, Katie. It just wasn't worth it anymore.

He put his hands at her waist, moving his body against her back where she stood at the kitchen counter.

"I'd be happy to time you at a few other things," he whispered, his breath stirring the hair near her ear. Still annoyed at his dress comment, she said snarkily: "I guess under ninety seconds is about right."

He hadn't found that amusing at all, and he'd abruptly dropped his hands, barely speaking to her the rest of the night. This was fine with Pam. More and more, the things he said and did were getting harder to overlook.

Monday morning, she couldn't wait for Jim to come in the door to put her out of her misery. When he did, she purposefully set the Boggle timer on the counter in front of him, turned it over so the sand began to slide out. "You have ninety seconds to come up with something or your forfeit the win."

He grinned. "Well, good morning to you too. I thought you didn't renege."

"I don't. But this is getting ridiculous. It's not rocket science."

"Hmm…you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded toward the draining sand. "Time's a-wasting, Halpert."

"Okay, attention everybody!" Jim called suddenly. Most everyone had arrived, and Michael had just walked in as Jim made his announcement. "As you know, Pam lost the Boggle tournament Friday, so her losing task is to perform an action of my choosing that must take ninety seconds or less."

Kelly called Ryan and Toby in from the annex. Apparently, they just _had _to hear this.

"Yes!" said Kevin. All the other men smirked.

"Well, I have decided what I want her to do." He turned to Pam, who looked like a deer in headlights, frozen to her desk chair. "Pam once bragged to me that she could sing 'Modern Major General' from _The Pirates of Penzance _faster than anyone she knew. She has never proven it…until now."

Oscar and Toby grinned and clapped in appreciation.

"What? Jim, that song is at least three minutes long!" Pam protested.

"Two minutes, fifty-five seconds. I checked."

"Well, what if I can't do it in ninety seconds? What if I forget the words? I haven't sung it in a long time."

"I have every faith in you."

"If you take out the pauses and musical interludes, you could probably do it," said Oscar helpfully. Toby nodded in agreement.

"Can I rehearse?" she asked desperately.

"Nope."

"And if you can't do it, she should buy you lunch," Phyllis suggested.

"I'd accept that," said Jim graciously.

"Could I just skip the song and go directly to lunch."

"Nope. You have to at least try."

On her couch that Christmas morning, Pam listened to the Broadway recording of "Modern Major General" with a fond smile. Even though she'd screwed up the words a couple times, she'd managed to sing it just as the last grain of sand slid to the bottom of the timer. The smile of pride Jim had given her had been worth everything, and she'd basked in its warmth.

Side 1 songs were finished, and she turned over the tape, rewinding it a minute to get to the beginning. With her new insight into Jim's feelings, the otherwise innocuous songs she'd heard many times on the radio took on new meaning. First up, was "Sing," the song they'd swayed to the night of Michael's script reading, the night Jim had called a _date_. She knew now why his labeling it that had so annoyed her. It hadn't really been annoyance after all, she realized. It had been fear that he was right, just as his bringing up Roy's leaving her at the hockey game had been out of his own jealousy.

The other songs on Side 2 had followed an obvious theme, so that by the end of the tape she was crying, her tears falling unchecked down her cheeks.

"Here Without You."

"You and Me."

"The Reason."

"Fix You."

"I'll Be"

"Open Your Eyes."

How could she interpret this playlist any other way but as a kind of…love letter? And why did it seem to come out of nowhere, somehow out of context, like something hadn't been said, like something was…missing? As the last strains of Snow Patrol's music faded away, she was startled to hear Roy moving around in the kitchen, groaning for coffee. Grabbing a tissue, she hastily wiped at her wet face, her runny nose, then tore off her head phones and went to the kitchen to make coffee for her hungover fiancé.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Across town, Jim awoke to a cold room. Damn Mark had forgotten to turn up the heat before he left to go to his parents' house. In the winter, the agreement was, the first one up turned up the heat. He shook his head, wrapping his comforter around him so he could walk to the hallway thermostat. The bulky comforter had caught and dragged his messenger bag off his desk chair, and half the contents had spilled out onto the floor. When he got back to his room he cursed under his breath, blaming Mark again as he bent to pick up the spreadsheets and new leads he'd taken home to peruse over the holiday. What he hadn't expected to see was the large white envelope, decorated at the corners with carefully drawn and colored holly and red ribbons. In the center on one side, in writing he would have recognized anywhere, was: _For Jim._

He stared at it a moment before sitting slowly on his bed, wrapping the comforter around his sleep pants while freeing his hands to open the envelope. They shook a little in anticipation, his heart speeding up as he pulled out the picture she'd drawn for him. He smiled, recognizing the scene immediately, without even having read the caption, _Closing Ceremonies_. She had drawn only him, leaving out Michael and Dwight, but the origami doves she'd made seemed to take flight in the background, his yogurt lid prominently rested against his tie, his hand on his heart as if the National Anthem were still playing. He marveled at the detail she'd used to recreate each strand of his hair, each line of his face, of his smile, shading each wrinkle and crease in his shirt, in his slacks. She must have drawn this from memory, because he had no recollection of anyone besides the documentary crew preserving the silly moment for posterity. Was this how she saw him? Surely she'd made him look much better than he actually had. The amount of care she'd put into this had to be attributed to the care she'd felt for her subject. For _him._ Or was he reading too much into her deceptively simple gift?

All he knew for sure was that this had been one of his best days at the office in recent memory, sharing her Christmas teapot having surpassed it the other night. Her delight in the gifts inside the teapot had been even better than he'd hoped, and she'd given up an expensive iPod for it too, before she'd even known what he'd put inside. His heart had been so full in that moment, yet he'd totally chickened out and snuck back the card he'd written to her, afraid to ruin this perfect moment with the possibility of rejection. He remembered that the card was still in his messenger bag, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized she might have discovered it by accident when she'd slipped her gift inside. Suddenly desperate, he dug through the bag and discovered it, the seal still intact, and gave a great sigh of relief.

Another day, he thought, and he slipped the card into a desk drawer.

He was contemplating framing the picture she'd drawn, turning it idly over in his hand. On the back, she'd written an inscription:

_Jim,_

_Don't ever worry about dying of boredom, if a magical day like this is what comes of it. (And by the way, you totally deserved the gold medal too, for what you did for Michael.) _

_Love, _

_Pam_

She'd signed it with love, he thought, staring at the word, trying not to overthink it. Women signed notes with _love _all the time. It didn't necessarily mean anything. But for Jim, so hungry for any crumb she might toss his way, he could live off _Love, Pam_ for years.

At that moment, his phone chimed an incoming text. Speak of the devil, he thought happily.

_I listened to my new mix tape. I loved it. Thank you. Merry Christmas!_

There was that word again. He shook his head at himself. _I'm so freakin' pathetic_, he thought. He texted a reply, opting for his usual humor to cover his true feelings.

_And thank you for the drawing. I just found it actually. I can't figure out who that gorgeous guy was in the picture though_.

She could almost see her rolling her eyes. _Well, when you figure it out, tell him I just draw what I see. _

He was glad she couldn't see the dopey smile on his face at the moment. She found him gorgeous, did she?

Then, belatedly, it occurred to him what had been on Side 2 of that stupid mix tape he'd made. He scrolled down to see her first message. She'd loved the tape, she'd said. He cringed as he remembered what he'd recorded. The songs had been so over-the-top romantic, but in the letter he hadn't given to her, he'd explained that everything on the tape helped explain what he felt for her. Without the letter, it must have been pretty jarring to hear such sappy, sentimental music coming from him, when he was the one who usually mocked such cheesy love songs. To help cover his embarrassment, he texted again.

_Going to your folks today? _

_In an hour or two. You?_

_Yeah. _

_Well, be careful on the roads. Have you looked outside yet?_

He went to his bedroom window, peaked out onto a winter wonderland.

_Wow. Definitely a white Christmas out there._

_I love it when that happens._

_Me too._

_Merry Christmas, Pam. _

_Yeah, you too. See you next year!_

He grinned at the old joke._ That never gets old, even after junior high school._

_Suck it, Halpert._

_That's what she said._

_LOL Talk about junior high…Goodbye Jim._

_Bye Pam. _

"I love you," he whispered to his empty bedroom, his thumbs frozen above his phone's keyboard. "I just wish I had the balls to say it to your face. Maybe next year, Beesly."

His eyes widened when he realized that "next year" started a week from that day. And just like that, Jim Halpert made his New Year's resolution.

**A/N: I could end this here, or go totally AU and continue in this vein. Any takers? Either way, Merry Christmas everyone!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So I decided to continue this, taking the story to New Year's Eve and a little beyond. **

**New Year's Eve**

Back in the office after the brief Christmas break, Jim tried his best to act normally. He wandered over to Reception and filched a few red and green M&M's—Pam's concession to the holidays. She looked up at him, her eyes warm. He found himself frozen a moment, trapped in her beautiful hazel eyes, his mind totally blank.

She smiled gently, though her cheeks were suspiciously pink. "May I help you with something?"

He blinked, finally, felt his own face flush. He cleared his throat.

"Oh, uh. Yeah. Are you and Roy going to Kevin's New Year's Eve party?"

Two days after Christmas, Kevin had e-vited most everyone from the office to a party at his place. Fortunately, Michael wasn't invited so everyone was relieved that the boss wouldn't be there, avoiding a repeat of Jim's barbecue.

"I am. Roy's not. I guess the all-night poker game the warehouse guys are having sounds more fun to him. But I'm not sitting all night watching him lose our money, and I don't feel like sitting at home watching Nick at Night marathons or seeing people having all the fun in New York. So, yeah, I'll be at Kevin's. I'm sure it'll be the next best thing to Times Square."

Jim grinned, his heart filling with joy that he could spend an entire evening with her without having to watch her with Roy. He tried not to think about how his heart tripped a little, remembering his New Year's resolution.

"Hey, don't count Kevin out. That man has the heart of a frat boy, and good taste in beer."

"I'll reserve judgment then."

He drummed his fingers nervously on the counter a few times, hesitated. It was weird. He suddenly could think of nothing to say to her, but at the same time needed to say _everything._

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"No. I uh—guess I'd better get back to work."

"Me too," she said. There was something knowing in her smile, something indefinably different in the way she looked at him, in the palpable, heightened chemistry between them. He walked back to his desk, but his eyes were drawn back to Pam. Did she somehow know what he was thinking, how he really felt? Had she read his Christmas card before he'd taken it, sealing it up again so well that he couldn't tell she'd opened it? He thought about the card, still in his desk at home where he'd put it Christmas morning. He gave a shuttering sigh. No. It definitely hadn't been opened, he told himself. Something else had caused this change.

Tomorrow night was New Year's Eve, and with Roy gone, he spied his chance to talk to her alone, to tell her his true feelings, to put them out there on the table so she could at least have a clear idea of her options. And if she didn't feel the same way, if he ruined their friendship by his admission, well—he was sure Dunder Mifflin could transfer him somewhere where he wouldn't have to endure loving her and watching her with someone else. It was a calculated risk, for the picture of him she had drawn had convinced him that he hadn't been imagining things. Maybe she just needed a nudge from him. Maybe she wasn't sure of Jim's feelings, needed a clearer sign from him before she turned her life upside down for another man.

Besides, even if he chickened out on the romantic confessions, he'd have an excuse to kiss her at midnight. That thought alone propelled him through the rest of the day, kept him awake far into the night.

Kevin's condo was really nice, and Jim wondered if his family had money for him to have been able to afford such a place on a Dunder Mifflin salary. He came to the door, a bottle of scotch in hand, to find most of the office staff there for the party. He shook hands with a Christmas sweater-clad Kevin, whose eyes lit up at the expensive single malt, then told Jim to make himself at home and eat and drink all he wanted. The dining room table had been turned into a card table, and Ryan, Dwight, Toby, Creed, and Stanley, along with a couple of Kevin's other friends, were seated around it playing Texas Holdem. They were playing with cash and coin rather than chips, each with a bottle or high-ball glass on the table beside him. The men all called out friendly greetings and invitations to let them take his money, as Kevin took his seat again at the head of the table.

"You're the last one here, Jim. You want us to deal you in?"

Jim shook his head. "Maybe later. I'm gonna check out the food first. Something smells great."

"Chicken," Dwight mocked.

"No, Dwight," replied Jim dryly, "smells more like chili." Everyone laughed, and Jim followed his nose to the kitchen.

His heart lurched as he saw Pam there with Kevin's girlfriend, Stacy. Pam was taking a pan of hot hors d'oeuvres out of the oven, laughing at something Kelly had said. Oscar was manning the makeshift bar, a buffet table set up with all kinds of bottles and a blender, in which he was pouring what looked to be the ingredients for margaritas. Jim added his bottle to the counter, and Oscar voiced his approval.

"Beer's in the fridge," Oscar directed, "or if you don't want a margarita, I might be able to make a drink you want."

"Nah, a beer is fine, thanks, he replied, though he was tempted to drink something much stronger, especially after Pam smiled her hello. If tonight was "The Night" he was going to need a lot of liquid courage.

"Hey," he said casually, walking past her to the refrigerator. He greeted the other women, patiently enduring Kelly's enthusiastic hug and squeal of welcome, rolling his eyes at Pam's amused grin.

"You gotta try Oscar's margaritas, Jim!" Kelly gushed.

Jim chuckled. "I will, I will. Let me start with a beer first," he said, as Pam handed him a bottle opener.

"There's chili, sandwiches, and chips and dip over on the sideboard," Stacy said. "And I'll put out these mini quiches when they cool a little."

"Thanks. Can't wait." Taking a swig from his bottle, Jim found his way to the food. He'd been so nervous that he hadn't eaten anything since cereal that morning, and his ham sandwich was still in the office fridge at work. He filled up a plate now with snacks, while Pam joined him.

"I'm starving," she said, echoing his thoughts. "That artichoke dip is awesome. Stacy's recipe."

"Hmm," said Jim, behind a bite of sandwich. He surreptitiously eyed Pam in her non-office attire. Her hair was down, curling around her face in ringlets he knew from watching his sister had to be carefully formed with a curling iron. She wore well-worn, comfortable looking jeans that did amazing things to her butt. Her top was an emerald green sweater that looked soft to the touch, like cashmere or something, and its scooped neck, though modest, was form-fitting enough to show off the outline of her full breasts. He had to force his gaze up to keep from staring, his heart beating double time. He was tempted to go ask Oscar to open up the scotch after all.

"Hey, _New Year's Rockin' Eve_ is on in the living room," Pam suggested, and Kelly and the others said they'd join them in a minute. Somewhere, a stereo was playing classic rock low from hidden speakers throughout the condo, while the TV was on mute. Jim and Pam sat together on a soft leather couch, setting their beers dutifully on coasters on the coffee table.

Jim tried to act casual, but his mind was swirling with thoughts of how he hoped this evening would go. "Mind if I turn on the bowl game? Penn State is playing."

"Sure, I don't mind. Kelly and Stacy might object though."

"I'll cross that bridge…" he said with a smirk, picking up the remote control for the big screen TV. He left the volume off, turning to Pam in an attempt to make small talk.

"Where's Phyllis and Angela?" he asked, not really curious.

"Phyllis is with Bob, I guess. They mentioned something about going into New York City tonight. Who knows, we might see them on TV at midnight."

They both laughed, imagining it.

"Angela said something about fearing going into the den of a depraved accountant. I don't know, though; Kevin seems to have made out pretty good in life, if this place is any indication. I think she'd be safe. Stacy showed me around upstairs earlier. He has a whirlpool bathtub," she said, sotto voce.

They met each other's eyes, laughter and horror intermingling as they pictured (against their will) Kevin lounging in a big bathtub.

"There were lots of bottles of bubble bath," Pam added mischievously, watching him struggle not to laugh with food in his mouth.

"Oh my God, stop," Jim protested, mouth full, trying not to choke on the artichoke dip. She patted his back helpfully, laughing as he grabbed his beer to help wash it down. At that moment, Stacy brought in a tray of mini quiches and baby pigs in blankets, and Kelly and Oscar joined them, margaritas in hand.

Kelly groaned dramatically. "Oh, man, Jim. Football? Really? Mariah Carey is supposed to be on Dick Clark. She is so my idol!"

"I bet she won't be on until closer to midnight," Pam said, trying to make everybody happy. "I really don't care what we watch, myself. It's just nice to be out of the house."

"AMC is having a Cary Grant marathon," Oscar suggested, without much hope.

Jim sighed, outnumbered, and handed the remote to Kelly. "We'll take turns. Kelly can watch first."

"Yay," she said, scooting closer to Jim on the couch. "Oh, the Pussycat Dolls are on!"

"How about a board game while we watch," Stacy said, opening a cupboard below the built-in bookshelves. Oscar got up to peruse the boxes with her. "Hey! Kevin has Trivial Pursuit." Jim and Pam looked back at him with raised eyebrows, surprised Kevin of all people even owned such a game. "Looks like its never been opened," he said, nodding. Well, that explained it.

"Ah," muttered Jim, and Pam elbowed him. Kevin's girlfriend was right there, after all.

"Sounds fun to me," said Pam. They cleared the coffee table and gathered around, Pam and Jim moving to sit on pillows on the floor, Oscar and Stacy on the couch. Kelly begged off in favor of the TV.

"That game is so boring. We used to play _strip_ Trivial Pursuit all the time in high school with the senior boys," Kelly said.

Jim stifled a laugh. "What?"

"Yeah. You had to take something off every time you missed a question. Funny how my girlfriends and I always ended up naked first. I think the boys were cheating; they always got the Sports questions."

"Genius," Jim muttered, in admiration of those long ago teenage boys.

"Well, I'm in," said Ryan with a smirk, who had been standing at the edge of the room listening to their conversation. "Strip Trivial Pursuit sounds awesome."

"No way," said Pam. "Not happening."

"Yeah," added Oscar. "No one wants to see _you_ lose Ryan." Ryan grinned knowingly, but made no further comment.

"Did they clean you out at the poker table?" asked Jim, making room for Ryan on the floor.

"Yeah, that Kevin is a shark," he said. "I lost fifty bucks."

Jim tried not to breathe in Pam's delicate floral perfume. It smelled like his mother's rose garden in the summer, and her sweatered arm brushed against him as she reached out to pick the pink pie piece as her game token. His own gray sweater sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, and he was pleased to find he was right: her sweater was very, very soft. He swallowed, stood abruptly. It was only nine o'clock. How was he going to hang on until twelve?

"Anyone want something else to drink before we start?" he asked.

Ryan and Oscar called for some of the scotch Jim had brought, Pam another beer, Stacy and Kelly another margarita. "I'll help you," Pam said, following him back to the kitchen.

"Having fun?" she asked him, searching around for a tray to carry the drinks.

"Yeah," he said. "Beats sitting home alone, or braving the drunk drivers."

She nodded. "Roy usually has his New Year's poker game at home, but Daryl offered to host at his house this year, giving me a good excuse not to be there. I was really glad when Kevin invited me to come here."

"Me too."

Finding a tray in a low cupboard, she set it near Jim as he opened the bottle of amber liquor. He grabbed three glasses and gave each of them a double shot, downing his own when Pam had her back turned at the refrigerator. He hastily refilled his glass in time for her to join him, pouring the last of the margarita mix from the blender for the other women. The whiskey was doing its trick, warming him, relaxing him.

"Let's make this interesting," Ryan ventured, when everyone had chosen their token and was settled in to play. He held the dice in his hand.

"I thought you were already down fifty," said Oscar.

"More interesting than money. The winner gets to choose who he or she kisses at midnight."

Everyone looked equally terrified, save for Ryan, who had been looking straight at Pam when he'd made his proposition.

"Hey!" protested Kelly. "Remember who you came here with, Ryan."

Ryan shrugged. "You opted not to play."

"Can we kiss someone not playing this game?" asked Stacy, glancing nervously toward the dining room.

"Sure. Anyone in the house. Or no one, I guess. Winner's choice, but if you play, you agree to be kissed if it comes to that."

"Well, that's okay then," Kelly intoned, relieved, and probably having missed the way Ryan had been looking at Pam's neckline. Jim hadn't missed it though, and he took another drink of single malt.

"Everyone still in?" asked Ryan.

"Yep," came the chorus of agreement, and Jim snuck a glance in Pam's direction, surprised that she'd agreed when Roy wasn't here. He began evaluating his competition, not too worried about Oscar being inappropriate with Pam. _Ryan_, on the other hand…Jim's second New Year's resolution suddenly became kicking Ryan's ass in _Trivial Pursuit_.

An hour and a half later, and Kelly was asleep at the end of the couch, and the remaining players were tied, one pie wedge remaining for each of them. Science wasn't Jim's strong suit, and the pie wedge for that category remained illusive. Oscar was missing the Sports wedge, as was Pam; Ryan still needing the Geography wedge. Stacy had dropped out, claiming a headache and one too many margaritas, and she was asleep in Kevin's recliner. Jim got his final slice of pie with a question about bears, everyone laughingly calling it unfair since his desk was next to the resident bear expert. He still had to make his way to the center of the board by an exact roll of the dice to ultimately win the game. He overshot the center space multiple times, and missed the next question, so the others were still in the running.

The poker players began trickling in to refill their glasses and watch the climax of the game, the tension rising after Ryan explained the stakes. The gamblers began making bets on who would win, as one by the Trivia players all got their final pie wedges, and began the arduous task of landing in the center and answering their final question correctly. Finally, Pam was the one who made it there, but the rules stated her opponents got to choose her final category for the winning question. They all agreed it would be Sports.

Pam groaned, and the others chuckled at her quandary.

Jim did the honors of drawing the card with what could be her winning question. His heart beat wildly, wondering who she would pick to kiss if she got this. It flitted through his mind that If she felt what he was feeling, maybe she would find the courage all this alcohol he'd been drinking wasn't giving him.

Taking a breath, Jim read the card:

_"__How many players in total are on a volleyball court at one time in sanctioned tournament play?"_

Pam, who had played volleyball throughout high school and college, let out a joyous bark of laughter.

"Twelve! Yes!" And she rose to her feet, hands in the air with victory. "Suck it, boys! I win!"

"She's right," confirmed Jim, his face reflecting how impressed he was by her. "Well done, Beesly."

The other women were awake now, cheering her on in feminine solidarity, hugging her and patting her on the back. There was a smattering of applause and whistles from the men, including her opponents, Jim smiling the widest, pride glimmering in his eyes. Someone shoved a beer in her hand, and she downed it happily.

Ryan and Jim got up from the floor, stretching their stiff legs.

"So, who are you kissing at midnight, Pam?" Ryan asked with a lascivious grin.

The onlookers fell silent, except for Kevin, who said: "I think she'll kiss Jim. But it would be totally hot if she kissed Kelly." He giggled happily at the thought.

Creed grinned lecherously. "I'd pay to see that."

Pam flushed. "I have till midnight to decide, right? And I can also choose not to kiss _anyone,_ that was the deal."

"True," said Ryan. "But come on. You won. You deserve to claim your prize."

"Don't pressure her, Ryan," said Kelly, her annoyance tinged with jealousy.

"At this point, I don't know what I'll do," Pam said. "I still have about an hour…"

She helped Jim dismantle and put up the game, while Kelly cranked up Dick Clark's show and the others migrated to the kitchen for sustenance and lot of alcohol to balance it out. Jim was still feeling the buzz of his multiple shots, felt the confidence seeping through his body.

"Don't let Ryan bully you into something you don't want to do," he said softly as he reached for the lid to the game box. "It's pretty obvious he concocted this whole scenario to cause trouble…and to maybe get something out of it for himself."

Pam smiled tightly. "Yeah, I know. I remember the Boggle tournament. The penalty was his idea if you remember."

Jim nodded. "Exactly. He can be a real prick."

She gasped in mock shock. "Why, Jim, such language."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry; I've been drinking. Speaking of which—you want another?"

"I'd better not. I have an important decision to make—I need a clear head."

"Well I'd like my head to be as fuzzy as possible. Maybe Oscar knows how to make a good gin and tonic."

"Wow," said Pam. "Gin generally kicks my ass. Go easy on that stuff, Halpert."

"No promises."

A half hour later, and Jim was well on his way to being sloppy drunk. Not exactly the look he was going for, but he was nervous about confessing his love to Pam, as well as at the prospect of Ryan's stupid bet screwing up his plans, but he drank straight past the shot of courage stage to hover at the embarrassingly wasted stage. If Jim wasn't who Pam chose to kiss at midnight, he'd be out of luck tonight; the mood would be totally ruined. And how often would he get this chance to take her aside and talk to her alone, the excuse of New Year's Eve to kiss her, with no Roy around to punch him out for it?

He'd played a couple hands of poker to pass the time, knocking back gin like there was no tomorrow. Also, he'd lost all the money in his wallet—he had no idea at the moment just how much that was. Some friends they were, he thought blearily; no one tried to get him to stop playing when he was so obviously not in his right mind.

At ten minutes to twelve, he stumbled up the stairs to the bathroom, struggled not to puke, splashed his face with some cold water and used the toilet. He wandered then into what he assumed was Kevin's bedroom, where he found French doors that led to a small balcony. He went outside and breathed deeply of the cold night air, hoping it would sober him up some before he went down for the countdown to 2006. He could hear the expectant laughter, as everyone made ready for the ball to drop on TV.

It smelled like it could snow at any minute, his breath coming out in white puffs. In the glow of the outside security lights, he saw her.

"Hey," he said in surprise. "What are you doing out here? You've got a crowd to please downstairs."

He wondered if his voice sounded as slow and slurred as it did in his head. He walked over to where she was leaning against the railing, and they both looked down. Kevin lived in a gated community, and the property was situated in a parklike setting. Small lights lit a path that went all around the condo complex, and last week's snow still covered most of the bushes and trees, or was swept into piles along the pathway.

Pam had laughed at his comment, so he guessed he must sound ok. "I told them I decided not to kiss anyone. A cop-out I know, but if it got back to Roy that I kissed another man at a party, he wouldn't understand it was just a game and get really pissed off. Totally not worth it. But that's okay; I have bragging rights, beating three of the smartest guys in the office at _Trivial Pursuit_."

Jim laughed—too loudly? He was overwhelmingly relieved at her choice, yet disappointed at the same time. She was rubbing her hands up and down her arms, and he realized through the alcohol induced fog that neither of them were wearing coats.

"Hey, hold on a sec," he said. He went back into Kevin's room and retrieved the throw blanket he'd seen neatly folded at the end of Kevin's bed. This had to be Stacy's influence, he thought absently. _Good for you, Kev_.

He rejoined her on the balcony, and unfolded the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

"Oh, thanks," she said. "Get under here with me. It's freezing!"

He wasn't so drunk that his heart didn't recognize happiness when it was offered. He stood close to her beneath the warmth of the throw, within a cocoon of her nearness, of her scent. He grabbed for the railing as a wave of dizziness caught him.

"I've never seen you this drunk before," she commented, sounding concerned.

"I _haven'_t been this drunk since college."

She laughed quietly, before a thought occurred to her. "Why tonight then? You always seem so in control. I know I don't drink too much unless I'm trying to drown my sorrows. Something going on you want to forget for a while?"

He suddenly felt almost sober, and he turned to look at her in the darkness, glad she couldn't see the pain, the longing, that must be clearly etched in his face. _Ha,_ he thought bitterly. _In control? Most days I'm barely hanging on._

"I'm fuckin' chicken shit, Pam," he said out loud, and he felt his eyes water at the painfulness of the admission.

"About what?" she asked. She was pushing him, almost as if she knew…so like the coward he was, he promptly turned things back on her.

"Who would you have kissed, if there wasn't…Roy?"

He felt her tense, and regretted his question immediately. His stomach dropped, thinking she'd abandon their cocoon now and go back into the house.

"Who _should _I have kissed?" she countered.

And there it was: his chance. He felt immediately paralyzed, his throat seizing up, his heart pounding so loudly that the alcohol seemed secondary in addling his brain. He swallowed, then cleared his throat, ignoring the feeling that he was freefalling.

"Me," he said.

And then, from downstairs, he heard the raised voices of their friends, excitedly counting backwards from ten. He stepped closer to her beneath the blanket, his shaking hands going to her face, brushing back a soft ringlet from her cold cheek. Her icy hands made him hiss in surprise when he felt them brush the skin between his sweater and his jeans.

"Jim, I—" she began, but by then the count had reached _one_, and the world suddenly erupted in celebration.

He kissed her amidst the cacophony of illegal fireworks, the echoing strains of _Auld Lang Syne _cranked loudly from countless TV's at once. His lips moved over hers, warming them, as the near and distant shouts of _Happy New Year!_ were punctuated by the banging of pots and pans and the pops of champagne corks from downstairs. She opened her mouth to his seeking tongue, as his hands slid into her hair. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his pulse racing, her arms wrapping around his waist, drawing them even closer together.

He didn't know how much time had elapsed before their initial passion gave way to sweet, soft kisses, cold noses and foreheads touching, but the night was quiet again save for the sound of their heavy breathing.

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

"Yeah," he said lamely, though he felt his widest smile stretching his face.

"I don't know what got into me," she said.

"Three beers and a margarita?"

The whiteness of her teeth flashed in the darkness. "I'm not nearly as drunk as you are, Halpert."

"But you were the night of the Dundies, the night you first kissed me, Miss Whitest Sneakers."

Her hands were moving under his sweater now, and they had become blessedly warm, though they still made him shiver. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

"Then let me refresh your memory."

He bent and captured her lips again, and this time, her hands came up to his shoulders as he gathered the drooping blanket more closely around them. He couldn't believe this was happening; it was so surreal. He wondered if this was some scotch-induced hallucination, but her mouth tasted very real, and her hands on his shoulders, sensually sliding into his hair, seemed extremely tangible to him. The sexy noises in her throat that went straight to his groin were definitely not in his imagination—and neither was Kelly's voice at the top of the stairs, calling for them both.

They broke apart suddenly and guiltily, and Pam struggled to disentangle herself from the blanket and from his arms.

"I—I'm sorry," she said in a hoarse whisper. "This was wrong. I—I shouldn't have-"

"Pam, wait!"

But she had left him on the balcony alone, save for Kevin's blue throw and a heart still racing with thwarted desire. He felt the wind pick up, felt the cold wetness of a snowflake landing on his face. He looked up into the sky, seeing nothing but white.

"Perfect," he said under his breath, before a wave of nausea overtook him.

He barely made it to the railing before he threw up onto the bushes far below.

**A/N: Next chapter focuses on Pam. Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I really appreciate those who are reading and reviewing. I hope you like this chapter.**

Pam met Kelly on the stairs, and she wondered if her flushed cheeks, swollen lips and tear-filled eyes would clue Kelly in on what she'd just been doing. Fortunately, as usual, Kelly's main focus was on herself.

"There you are! You missed the countdown. I totally can't believe it's 2006 now. I've got a feeling this will finally be my year," she said, her smile radiant with thoughts of Ryan. "Hey, is that snow in your hair?"

Pam reached up automatically, sure enough feeling the cold wetness in her hair. She hadn't even realized it was snowing outside, she'd been so caught up in Jim's kisses. She shook her head, trying to erase the image, trying to form a coherent reply.

"I uh—did you know Kevin has a balcony? I was just out getting a breath of fresh air, trying to sober up."

"A balcony? Cool. Where's Jim? He missed midnight too."

Pam shrugged as they began walking down the stairs together. "He's probably passed out in one of the bedrooms somewhere. He was pretty drunk."

"Oh. I don't think I've ever seen him drunk before. Weird. Anyway, Stacy and I were the only girls left for the guys to kiss at midnight—well, besides Meredith. Someone just dropped her off here at ten minutes till. She is so totally wasted. The three of us got lots of kisses on the cheek. I was hoping Jim would have been down here." She grinned mischievously. "But anyway, Ryan really went after it, at least with me. His lips are so soft, you wouldn't believe it. And don't get me started on his tongue..." She sighed in romantic remembrance.

"Sorry I missed all that," said Pam.

Back in the living room, everyone was getting ready to leave.

"Hey, where's my keys?" asked Oscar, patting down his pants pockets, then going over to the coat rack to look in his coat pockets.

"Mine are gone too," said Ryan, repeating the same motions.

One by one, all who drove began complaining of missing car keys.

Dwight laughed suddenly, and all eyes turned suspiciously to him.

"You all were so drunk, you didn't even notice that I pickpocketed your keys. As safety officer, it is my job to make sure no one drives drunk tonight. So call a cab or someone to pick you up who hasn't been drinking. And don't think I won't check. I have a breathalyzer in my car. I _am _an officer of the law, you know."

"_Voluntary _officer," Pam said automatically, just for Jim.

"Isn't pickpocketing illegal?" pointed out Oscar.

There was a chorus of "Come on, Dwight!" and "You can't do that!"

"Oh, I've already done it. Even Kevin's, in case he has the idea of driving someone home."

"Where are my keys, Dwight?" asked Toby. "I've only had one beer this whole night. I'm not drunk. I admire what you're doing, but you should have told us before taking our property. Give me my keys and I'll make sure I get some of them home. I can maybe take four in my car."

"Nope. Not without a breathalyzer. We're not in the office right now, so you have no jurisdiction over me."

"What about you, Dwight?" asked Oscar. "Weren't you drinking?"

"Just water. I designated myself the uh, designated driver."

"Bullshit," said Ryan. "You had a glass of scotch; I saw you."

"That was just for show, Temp, to avoid suspicion. I have consumed no alcohol."

Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Give us _your_ keys, Dwight," demanded Oscar.

"Yeah, if _we're_ not leaving, _you're_ not leaving," Kevin said, advancing menacingly toward the much thinner man.

Dwight threw up his hands. "Go ahead; you can torture me all you want; I won't tell you where I hid anyone's keys. And you'll never find them without me."

Pam and Kelly had pulled out their phones, calling a local taxi company. Just as they expected, everyone was using the free cab services most companies were offering on New Year's Eve, and all they got were busy signals.

Ryan got off the phone with his mom.

"Hey, guys, my mom has a minivan. She can take a few of us home." Everyone started asking for a ride.

"My wife's coming to get me," said Stanley. He turned to Dwight. "My keys better be here tomorrow morning, or I'll kick your ass."

"They'll be here; don't worry your drunken little head. I'll text Kevin where they are tomorrow."

Pam was searching her fuzzy brain. She wasn't about to call Roy; no doubt he was drunk too, and would probably end up staying over at Daryl's. Her parents and sister lived two hours away, and her friend Isobel was at a party of her own.

"You have room for me?" she asked Ryan.

"Oh, Pam. Sorry. We're all filled up. Unless you want to sit on my lap." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Kelly frowned.

"Uh, no thanks. Maybe Kevin and Stacy will let me sleep on their couch."

"What about Jim?" asked Kelly.

At mention of Jim, Pam's face grew pink again, and she shivered at the memory of his lips on hers, his warm body beneath the blanket, his hands in her hair.

"I'll—"

But just then, Jim came lumbering down the stairs, his face and hair damp at the temples, as if he'd thrown water on his face. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, and it took him twice as long to get down the stairs as it should have, his steps careful and slow, his hands tightly gripping the handrails as he descended. He took in the chaos and angry atmosphere of the room, his eyes coming to rest on Pam. She met his gaze, but looked hastily away, her flush deepening.

"Dwight took all our keys so we wouldn't drive drunk," Kelly was telling him. "You have anyone you can call to get you?"

Jim was too addled to even question this turn of events. "Uh, Mark's at a club in Philly. I guess I could call my parents."

"Oh, good," she said. "Hey, you think they would mind giving Pam a ride?"

"Kelly—" Pam interposed.

"No, I'm sure they wouldn't care." Jim didn't dare look at Pam. At the foot of the stairs, he drew out his phone.

Twenty minutes later, everyone but Pam and Jim was gone. Pam busied herself helping Stacy clean up in the kitchen, and Kevin was asleep in his recliner. The ringing doorbell didn't even stir him.

Pam and Jim thanked Stacy and went to the door. A tall, handsome, middle-aged man who bore a passing resemblance to Jim waited at the door. Pam wondered if Jim looked more like his mom.

"Hey, Dad. Sorry you had to come all the way over here so late."

His amused laughter made it obvious where Jim got his charm. "I haven't gotten a call like that since you were in high school," Mr. Halpert said. "You look like hell, son. Good thing you called when you did; your mother and I were about to turn in."

"Would you mind taking Pam home too? She doesn't have a ride."

"Pam?" Mr. Halpert's eyebrows shot up. "_The_ Pam?" His familiar hazel gaze rested on her, and she felt herself warming with embarrassment.

"Dad!"

"Pam Beesly," she said, reaching out her hand in amusement. _So, he'd talked to his dad about me?_ "I work with Jim."

"Hm. Pretty as you said, Jimmy."

Beside her, Jim covered his face and groaned. "Oh my God," he said under his breath. As they grabbed their coats and walked outside into the cold night air, big flakes of snow were coming down steadily.

"You don't seem too drunk to me," Mr. Halpert commented to Pam as they walked to the parking lot.

"I've had a few, I admit, so I guess it's better I didn't drive. I appreciate you giving me a lift. I hope I'm not too far out of your way."

"No problem; happy to help. My son here doesn't ask my help too much anymore. He's a grown man now, I guess."

Pam grinned. "Except when he reverts back to his frat party days."

She looked over in time to see Jim shooting her a murderous glance. He must be sobering up. Her smile widened, and for a moment it was like he'd never kissed her, that they were still just best friends, and she felt relieved. Maybe they could survive this after all, move on, chalk it up to too much booze.

Jim's dad stopped in front of an old white pick-up truck.

"You brought the truck?" Jim asked in dismay.

"It's four-wheel drive, son, and in case you're too wasted to notice, it's coming down pretty hard out here. The roads are getting packed."

He unlocked the doors, and Jim gestured that Pam should slide into the truck in the middle. He automatically helped her up into the high cab, and they both felt the shock of awareness as their bare hands clasped. He got in beside her, shutting the door and buckling his seatbelt, before scooting as far to the window as he could. Pam was struggling to buckle the middle seatbelt, and he wordlessly moved to help her. She shivered at his touch, at his nearness, and his hands shook so much it took him an inordinate amount of time to find the buckle.

Pam's face brushed against his hair as he bent to his task, and she was assailed with the memory of its softness beneath her fingers. His breath smelled minty, like mouthwash, and she wondered if he'd raided Kevin's medicine cabinet.

Mr. Halpert had already started the truck, and the diesel engine idled loudly, while he reached to crank the heater up full blast. "You two in?"

"Yep," they said in unison. It was such close quarters, that Pam was squished between the two men, her feet on the hump on the floor, the gear shift between her knees. She turned awkwardly to the side toward Jim to avoid Mr. Halpert's grip on the knob. Her legs touched Jim's, and she felt him tense beside her.

"What's the address, Pam?" Mr. Halpert asked. She told him, and he drove carefully through the snow-covered parking lot, past the open gate, and out into the street. As Jim sat silently beside her, his dad asked her polite questions about her family and her job at Dunder Mifflin, as well as questions about Jim's work ethic at the office.

Pam laughed. "He's actually our number two salesman," she said, "but I could totally see him moving up to number one if he tried a little harder."

"Pam," he growled next to her.

"Oh, don't be so modest," she said dryly, teasing him. "I could also see him in a management position in a year or two. He's really good with people." She was being completely honest, and she jumped a little to feel Jim squeeze her knee in appreciation of her comment. She looked over at him, saw his eyes soften as he looked at her in the dashboard light.

"Pam's a hell of an artist," Jim said out of nowhere. "She could make a living that way if she went for it."

Pam looked away in embarrassment. "He's exaggerating. I'd have to take a lot more art classes…"

"You should, young lady," said Mr. Halpert. "Don't give up on your dreams, or put them off, either. Life's too short…"

Jim chuckled. "Dad writes Hallmark cards in his spare time, or sometimes inspirational posters."

"Clichés are clichés for a reason, smartass. Don't pay attention to him, Pam. He wanted to be a sports writer. Now he works for a paper company."

This was a surprise to Pam. "A sportswriter? Really?"

"Thanks, Dad. Yeah. I wrote for the college newspaper when I realized I couldn't make it on the basketball team. But sports writing is really competitive, and journalism doesn't pay the bills. That's why I majored in marketing. Someday I'd like to be my own boss though."

"Michael isn't good enough for you?" Pam asked dryly.

He snorted, but was as diplomatic as usual. "He means well."

They rode in silence for awhile as visibility decreased and Mr. Halpert had to slow considerably to focus more on the road. Pam was surprised to feel Jim's head resting on her shoulder as he snored softly. She smiled, remembering several months ago, when she'd done the same to him during a boring office meeting. She didn't move, letting him sleep, trying not to remember that she'd kissed him earlier, that he wasn't her fiancé, that she really needed to consider now what she really wanted. Drunk or not, she had certainly wanted Jim on Kevin's balcony tonight. His kisses had effectively blocked out her feelings for Roy, had opened the floodgates to her feelings for Jim.

_God, what a mess._

"Jim tells us you're engaged," Mr. Halpert said softly.

She started, then forced herself to stay still so she wouldn't wake Jim. "Yes," she said politely.

"Have you set a date?'

"We're trying to save for the wedding right now."

"Hm."

Given what Pam suspected about Jim's feelings for her, she wondered what he might have said to his family, and she felt compelled to try to clarify to his father what her relationship to his son really was.

"Jim's my best friend at the office," she said. "I really…care about him. He's such a good guy."

"Yes, he is. And he really _cares_ about you. But I think you know that. You'd be blind not to know that."

She _had_ been blind though, a selective kind of blindness, up until a week ago. Then she'd listened to the mix tape he'd made for her, and a few days before, when she'd seen the keepsakes he'd given her, representing the best of their friendship, but definitely having a romantic edge that was undeniable now. She could no longer lie to herself that they were just friends, especially after what happened on the balcony.

"I never want to lose his friendship," she said sincerely.

"I know he feels the same way." She could hear the protectiveness in his voice, the worry, that she might hurt his son. She worried about the same thing, about both of them. About Roy.

"Hey, is this your street?"

She squinted through the sweeping windshield wipers. "Yes. The third house on the left."

He pulled into her driveway, and she was relieved Roy's truck wasn't there.

"Hey," she whispered. "Jim, we're here. I'm gonna need my shoulder back." She smiled.

"Hmph?" After a second nudge he sat straight up, rubbing his eyes, disoriented.  
"Oh, sorry. I must have passed out a minute," he said sheepishly. He moved to open the door, and hopped out so that he could help her.

"Watch out. It's slick." She took his hand, stepped carefully onto the icy running board, then down to the snow-packed concrete. She wished she'd worn her snow boots, because her tennis shoes weren't made for walking in the snow. Jim must have watched the weather, for he wore a heavy pair of Doc Martin's with his jeans.

"I'll help her to the door," he called to his dad, when she slid around and nearly fell into him.

"Thanks again for the ride," Pam said.

"Anytime, young lady."

The snow fell heavily around them as Jim walked her up the short walkway to her front porch.

"Dammit," she suddenly said, reaching in her purse in vain. "Dwight has my house keys along with my car keys, the idiot. I hope everyone else can get into their houses."

Jim tried to hide his grin. "Guess you'll have to come home with me. I have a spare key under a rock near my door."

She shook her head, reached up on tiptoe for the hidden key on the top of the door frame. "That's okay. I've got one too." She didn't miss his disappointed expression.

In the yellow glow of her porchlight, the snow swirling around them in windblown eddies, she looked up at him, stomach tightening at how adorable he looked, how shyly he was admiring her too. Another time, before they'd kissed, this wouldn't have been a big deal, his walking her like a gentleman and friend to her door. But now, her heart picked up speed as the moment came for them to say goodbye. A tall bush grew near the porch, and she knew Mr. Halpert wouldn't be able to see them from the driveway, especially with the snow. Even half drunk, Jim recognized her discomfort, her fear, her anticipation. He reached out to touch her cold cheek.

"Pam, I—"  
Her hand came up, rested on the front of his coat. Bravely, she met his eyes.

"Please, don't say anything yet. I have to think about this, what this all means. For us. For _all _of us. I need some time, Jim, okay? Besides, you're drunk. Who knows what regrets you'll have tomorrow." She smiled a little.

He shook his head. "I won't have any regrets," he said softly. And before she could say another word, he gently kissed her lips. Passion flared immediately, but they both resisted, and he drew slowly away.

"Call me if you want to talk," he said. He stole another quick kiss and stepped back.

"Good night," she said, knowing in that moment that she was in love with him. His eyes darkened as he recognized the sudden change in her demeanor, but his mind was too slow to identify what it meant.

He didn't leave until she'd unlocked her door and locked it again from the inside. When the roar of the diesel engine faded away, Pam sat heavily on her couch in the dark house, the night's events whirling like snow through her mind.

"Oh my God," she whispered to the empty room. Face in hands, she began to weep.

**A/N: More soon! And Happy New Year!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Well, here's the conclusion of this little fic. I hope you liked it.**

Jim woke up to a cold, sunlit room, having been too drunk to think about closing the blinds when he got home. He glanced at his alarm clock, saw that it was nearly eleven. He recalled getting up a few hours before, to use the bathroom and take off the clothes he hadn't bothered removing before crawling between the sheets. Now, he lay still in his bed, praying as he slowly awoke that the bed wouldn't be spinning. Thankfully, that wasn't the case, but his head pounded and his mouth was parched and he smelled the disgusting odor of his own flop sweat.

He wasn't blessed with a memory loss either, and everything from the night before came flooding back. He'd kissed Pam—a few times. That certainly wasn't the most humiliating part, and he was glad he remembered those passionate moments, the fact that she'd kissed him back wholeheartedly. No, the embarrassing part was that he'd had to be totally wasted in order to do it and he still hadn't told her he loved her.

He closed his eyes against the sun and the stirring of his body at the memory of their kisses. Her lips had been so soft, her mouth so hot despite the chill of the night. He'd caressed her, touched her hair, and it had been more wonderful than he'd ever dreamed. He hoped the alcohol they'd both imbibed hadn't exaggerated the excitement and beauty of those moments, that now, in the literal light of day, she wasn't regretting what they had done. He was not, though he regretted how it had come to be, that he still didn't know where she really stood with him.

He remembered suddenly his conversation in the truck with his dad after they'd dropped Pam home. The cold air and kissing Pam at her door had revived him somewhat, and he remembered it clearly. He'd been prepared for a lecture, but was surprised at his dad's sympathetic tone.

"I've never seen you this drunk before. What brought that on?"

"You just met her."

"Aw," his dad had said, "I see. Let me give you some friendly advice, son. If you want this girl, you're gonna have to fight for her, and I worry because you've never been a fighter. You've always gotten along with everyone; everyone likes you. You've always been so easygoing, always the peacemaker between your brothers, even volunteering to accept responsibility for stuff you didn't do for the sake of the peace."

"Dad—"

"No, it's true, and you know it. But with her…you're gonna have to put yourself out there and fight."

He'd sighed in frustration. "She's engaged, remember? And her fiancé is built like a Mack truck. If it came to an actual fight, he'd kick my ass."

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that, but I'm thinking it would probably be worth it in her case, am I right?"

Jim nodded, unable to stop his grin at the truth of that. "Yeah, it would be."

"And Pam has feelings for you, that I'd bet my life on. So, I think there's hope there, if you maybe spell out how you feel."

"That was the plan tonight. I just didn't get around to it."

"Look, Jimmy, I've been exactly where you are. Your mother was going steady with someone else when I first met her, and that gave me pause at first, but I knew she was the one for me, and I didn't stop until I'd wooed her away. She never cheated on the guy, but she didn't stop my attentions either. I'm thinking Pam is an honorable girl too, so you'll have to tread lightly, but while you were passed out, she and I had a little chat. I'm convinced she is open to your…attentions."

Jim's heart had skipped a beat. "What did she say?"

"That you're her best friend. That she cares about you. That she hasn't set a date for her wedding."

Jim laughed bitterly. "All this I know, Dad."

"Yeah, but you didn't hear _how_ she said it; almost as if she were in denial of her true feelings. I'm a pretty good judge of character, son, and I'm telling you, if you love this girl, go after her. Give her a reason to choose you. That's what I did with your mother. And look how well that turned out…"

His dad's words echoed in his hungover brain, and he was momentarily filled with excitement at the possibilities. Between Pam's gift at Christmas, her kisses last night, her plea for him to give her time…his dad might just be right. She'd said she needed to think. It was Sunday, and he'd give her till Monday before he approached her. Was that enough time? Hell, it had been almost three years that he'd waited for her, only dating occasionally, and not seriously, because no one else could compare to her. And Pam had been his best friend the whole time, so if she had deeper feelings for him now, they must have developed over time, since she'd given him no clear indications of a romantic interest until last night. At least, that's what he'd thought.

He pondered the last few years, the smiles, the meaningful looks, the seemingly innocent touches that set his pulse racing, the few warm embraces that hovered just at the line of something more than friendship. Like him, she might have been fighting it for the sake of honor, like his dad had said. She'd committed to Roy, was living with him. A girl like Pam didn't just throw that all away because of a night of drunken weakness. But she needed _time to think. _

It occurred to him that if she truly wanted to be with Roy, there'd be nothing to think about.

Gingerly, Jim sat up at the edge of his bed, aching head in hands. He needed a shower, some coffee, maybe some dry toast, and a handful of ibuprofen. Then, maybe he could think a little straighter, summon the courage to do tomorrow what he had planned but failed to do last night. If Pam was going to make a truly informed decision, she had to know his true feelings. She wasn't going to leave Roy for a crush or for sexual attraction. He had to make it perfectly, _soberly_ clear what he was offering. What's more, Jim needed to know what she was feeling too, so he could cut bait and move on once and for all if she didn't want him that way. It was only fair, to both of them.

Thus resolved, he stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the shower, still thinking about Pam and those amazing kisses in the dark.

He'd heard nothing from her on Sunday, so that by Monday, completely sober and anxiously anticipating the day, he walked into the office with no idea what was going to happen. He was glad that the doc crew would still be gone another week for their holiday break, so at least he didn't have to worry as much about his expression when he saw her.

Pam was behind her desk on the phone, and their eyes locked as he entered. She flushed prettily, before averting her eyes to her computer. That seemed promising, though not any clearer. He frowned, hung up his coat, and went to his desk.

"That was a real dick move the other night," Jim said to Dwight, setting his messenger bag beneath his desk.

"I texted you where you could find your keys the very next morning. You were so wasted, I probably saved your life, so you're welcome."

"You owe me twenty bucks for my cab ride to Kevin's to pick up my car."

"Ha. Good luck collecting. As Grossvater used to say, you can't get blood from a beet."

"Yeah, but I could from a beet _farmer_," Jim replied menacingly. Dwight just rolled his eyes and made a scoffing noise under his breath.

Jim was in no mood for Dwight's idiocy this morning, so he chose to ignore him the rest of the day. Meanwhile, Pam had finished her phone call, and he could feel her eyes on him. The moment his computer booted up, he saw she'd sent him an instant message.

_Receptionitis15: Let's go out for lunch._

_Jim9334:__Ok. _

He waited a moment, his heart in his throat, and when she didn't message him back, he couldn't resist asking:

_Jim9334: Are you all right?_

He looked over at her and she instinctively looked up at him from her desk. She nodded, her face expressionless_. Well, that wasn't helpful,_ he thought in frustration.

By the time noon rolled around, Jim was going out of his mind. He'd barely gotten any work done, and mostly stared at a spreadsheet on his computer without really seeing it, or gave up and mindlessly played Minesweeper. He avoided staring at Pam—that only made things worse, but when twelve o'clock rolled around, he met her eyes and abruptly got up to get his coat. She soon followed and they rode down together in the elevator.

"Hey," he said awkwardly, inhaling the seductive fragrances of roses and apple shampoo.

"Hey."

More than anything, he wanted to grab her and kiss her against the wall, and the tension built up inside of him so quickly that he had just moved to do it when the door slid open.

It wasn't until they were sitting in his car that they spoke again. He turned on the car and turned to look at her.

"What are we doing, Pam?" he asked softly, and she could have either taken that to mean _where were they going for lunch_, or more accurately, what the hell were they _doing?_

"Just drive, please," she said. "I don't want anyone to see us together." By _anyone_, of course, she no doubt meant Roy.

Jim's brow furrowed in annoyance, but he did what she asked and pulled out of the parking lot. He drove toward a park down the street, pulled in, and parked in a space overlooking empty playground equipment. It was still cold and snowy from the New Year's storm, and since it was also the middle of the day, no one was around. He turned off the engine and sat and waited in the silence.

"Jim, the other night—"

"I'm in love with you," he interrupted impulsively.

"What?"

He unbuckled his seatbelt so he could turn to look at her.

"I think you heard me." He reached for her hand to help soften his words. She met his eyes, let him hold her hand. "And I think—I think you might feel the same way."

"It's not that simple."

"It is, though. It _is_ that simple." He grabbed her other hand, looked unflinchingly into her eyes. "If we love each other, we can get through everything else. I can wait forever for you, if I know you feel the same about me. But if I've misinterpreted things, if I've been wasting my time on a pipe dream, then let me go, okay, so we can both move on. I just need to know one way or another or I might go totally insane."

He wondered if she could hear his heartbeat, if she could feel the sweat that dampened his palms, if she could see in his eyes how close he was to tears. She blinked rapidly, closed her eyes. He noticed her chest was rising and falling rapidly, heard her heightened breathing. Jim, however, held his breath.

"Yes," she said shakily, the single word barely audible. "Oh, God, Jim, I do. I do love you," but the words came in anguish, as if torn from her body, and she threw her arms around him, mindless of the console between them as she held on tightly. He embraced her back, his face in her hair, the tears that had threatened now falling against his will.

"I—I don't know how I can do this, to Roy. To his family. You don't understand how hard this is going to be to hurt everyone. We've been together since we were teenagers." Her words rushed out haltingly, muffled against his coat, and he knew she was crying too.

He drew back from her, lifted his hands to her wet cheeks, wiped at the tears with his thumbs. He sweetly kissed her trembling lips, realizing how much he'd meant that the rest didn't matter, as long as she loved him. But he could hear how much it mattered to her.

"It's okay. Take as much time as you need. I'll be here for you through all of it, I promise. I've been waiting for you for forever, since the day we met—I've loved you that long."

Her eyes widened at that admission, and she smiled through her tears. "Seriously?"

He nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"No! I—I wish I had known, that I had seen—"

He caressed her cheek, brushed her bangs from her eyes. "You would have seen, if you'd been looking close enough. God knows I had a hard enough time hiding it from you."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I honestly didn't realize—or maybe didn't _allow _myself to realize."

"It's okay, because you realize it now."

"I do," she repeated, and she moved her lips up to his. Drunk, their kisses had been sloppy and wild and uninhibited. Sober now, in the middle of the day, it was no less wonderful, but they were more mindful of the significance of the moment, their passion making them feel drunk, not the other way around. Now, there was nothing to blame on the alcohol. This was real, this was perfect, this was unabashed love at its purest.

They kissed this way for several minutes, and it felt so freeing, making out like teenagers in broad daylight. Finally, for want of oxygen, they pulled away, breathless and intensely happy—or at least Jim was. Her eyes became shadowed as they sat there, and, suddenly feeling the cold inside the car, he turned the key and was grateful for the heat that poured out of the vents.

"Are you okay?" he asked for the second time that day.

She nodded. "Yeah. I think I'm just…in shock or something. I can't believe this is happening, that we're doing this."

He reached for her hand again, squeezed it, and suddenly, he let out a bark of laughter.

"What?" she said, bemused.

"I had worked myself up for a fight here," he said. At her raised eyebrow, he continued: "My dad had basically said I needed to man up and fight for you, that I should woo you away from Roy. I had no idea this would be so easy, Beesly." He laughed again. "Easy Beesly."

"Oh, my God, don't ever call me that again."

He chuckled. "I'm sorry, was that ever a thing with you?"

"Yeah, in high school. When Roy and I first started dating, one of his football buddies made the mistake of jokingly calling me that to some of the other kids. I was tormented with the nickname for about a week before Roy found out who'd started it. Beat the guy to a pulp. No one ever called me that again."

"Jeeze. Sorry. It just sounded funny. For the record, I don't think you're easy, in any sense of the word. As a matter of fact, I think you're the most complicated woman I have ever known."

"I don't think I'm complicated," she said thoughtfully. "Just confused and unsure of myself, just…trapped for too many years in something I was too afraid to get out of. I guess that might seem complicated, especially given what I'm doing here in this car with you."

"Hey, I wasn't trying to be insulting, I promise. I—sometimes I tend to get flippant when I'm overwhelmed. And this is pretty damned overwhelming, not to mention totally surreal."

He ran a shaking hand through his hair, his other hand tightening on hers. He'd hoped for this moment, but never really believed it could happen.

"So, what's next?" he asked softly, because his impatient mind clamored for a plan.

"I don't know," she said. "I need to talk to Roy, obviously. But I think I should keep you out of it. I'm not just breaking our engagement because of you. There are other things that I've been ignoring for years, things that show how we really aren't meant to be together. It's going to be a shock to him, because I've never raised much of a fuss about those things, and that has been one of the main mistakes of our relationship. But it's too late to fix any of that, to expect him to change, and besides, I love someone else now."

He brought her hand to his lips. "If he saw us like this, he'd kill me, and rightly so," said Jim solemnly.

"Yes, he would. So I think it best if we keep quiet about us, at least for awhile. Don't you think?" She looked up at him, obviously fearful he would be angry at her suggestion.

"I totally agree. I really didn't want to be that guy, Pam—the dishonorable guy who breaks up a relationship. I mean, much as I dislike Roy, he doesn't deserve this; I broke the man code, kissing another guy's girl. I swear that on New Year's Eve, my intention was to _tell_ you my feelings, not to act on them. But I drank too much and did the exact opposite, which was totally wrong of me. The last thing I wanted was to make either of us into cheaters."

"But it's not like we've—"

"No, but it's still wrong, as long as you have that ring on your finger."

She sighed. "You're right. I'm just dreading this, you know?"

"Me too. And I'll be here if you need to talk, but after today, after now, we shouldn't be doing this anymore, not until you're totally free."

He couldn't believe he was saying this, that he was actually pushing her away when he was finally able to hold her, to kiss her like he'd always dreamed of doing. But being chicken hadn't been the only reason he'd restrained himself with her these past three years. He believed in the sanctity of commitment, in doing the honorable thing, and he didn't want this budding relationship to be tainted with something dirty, or scandalous. When they could finally be together, there would be enough speculation as it is.

"Okay," she said. "You're right. But we still have another half-hour of our lunch break." She gave him a smile that was pure seduction, and he had no idea how he'd be able to resist her now, not after he'd tasted her, felt her warm body pressed to his.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and glanced meaningfully at his back seat. His eyes widened. "Beesly—"

She put her finger on his lips. "I'm kidding, sort of. I just want to be close to you while we can, just kiss you a little, I promise. That will help get me through the tough times ahead."

He sighed in recognition of his own failings, and turned off the key again before they both got out of the car. In the cozy backseat, he held her to him, their hands slipping inside each other's coats, purely for warmth, they told themselves. After their first heated kiss, he pulled away, breathless.

"Did my long, inspired speech about honor mean nothing to you, woman?"

"It was a very pretty speech," she teased, kissing her way along his jawline, then pausing to whisper in his ear: "Almost Shakespearean."

He closed his eyes tightly, shivering in reaction to her touch more than to the gathering chill.

"Does this mean we're not getting lunch?" he asked as his mouth hovered once more over hers. He was sure she must have heard his stomach growling; he had been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning.

"There's always the drive-thru," she said against his lips.

"God, I love the way you think."

He cut off her chuckle with his mouth, and he couldn't help the moan that escaped from his throat as her tongue tangled with his.

It was two tough weeks before she could come to him, completely free. They'd spoken on the phone every night, or stolen quick, whispered conversations alone in the breakroom, where he'd listened as she alternately ranted or cried. Roy hadn't taken it well, understandably, and Jim had been afraid of his temper where she was concerned.

"Roy would never hurt me," she'd reassured him, but there was no doubt he'd punch Jim's lights out if he knew what had happened between them since New Year's Eve, so she'd kept her word and kept Jim out of it. After Roy's initial shock, anger had set in. When she called on her parents and her sister to help her move her stuff out from their house to an apartment closer to the office, apparently, Pam's dad had to block Roy's path into the house. Jim's hands had fisted in anger when she'd related the story to him later, and he felt helplessly that he should have been there.

She'd taken a day off to move while Roy was at work, but somehow he'd found out she wasn't in the office, so he'd followed her home. Roy hadn't laid a finger on Mr. Beesly, however, but he'd paced and cussed furiously outside the house until everything had been loaded among their three cars. She'd left all the furniture, only taking her clothes, some of the kitchen supplies, half the linens, and a few personal items she couldn't bear to part with. She'd set her engagement ring on his dresser in their bedroom. She had to change her cell phone number because he wouldn't stop calling and texting her.

For the next week, Roy had come to the office, whispered to her desperately over her desk, until finally Michael had come out of his office to put a stop to it. When he'd turned on the boss, Jim and Dwight had rushed to hold the big man back, while Michael had yelled that Roy was absolutely, totally fired, wiping at his bloody nose with the backs of shaking hands. Jim had laughed in the past when Dwight had bragged about his sleeper-hold abilities, but he wasn't laughing when Roy fell to the floor in a heap, down for the count.

"Roy!" Pam cried, running around and dropping to her knees by her unconscious ex-fiancé.

"He'll be fine," said Dwight confidently, cracking his knuckles.

Jim looked from Dwight to Roy and back again, shaking his head in wonder, while Oscar called Security. Sure enough, Roy had come around by the time Security arrived, and they hauled him off the property, cussing under his breath.

From then on, Jim escorted Pam to her car after work, and followed her back to her parents' house since he didn't want her staying alone in her new apartment yet. At the end of the second week, she'd learned that Roy had moved in with his brother thirty miles away, and had gotten a construction job. Michael hadn't pressed charges against Roy, after he'd called to apologize. Things seemed to calm down, but it was days before Jim didn't look up anxiously every time the door to the office opened.

Three days after the Roy debacle, Pam went home with Jim. He hugged her in the middle of the living room, while Mark made himself scarce.

"I'm sorry," Jim said into her hair, "I should have done something to stop him. I had a feeling something like this was going to happen."

She shook her head, tears falling silently down her pale cheeks. "He would have come after you, Jim, and everything would have been ten times more complicated if he thought I'd been cheating on him."

He knew she was right, but still, the man in him had felt decidedly ashamed that he hadn't done more.

"It's over now," she was saying. "I'm free, and there's a restraining order against him now."

Jim closed his eyes, holding her tightly. "I can't even believe it, that you're finally here."

She pulled back from him, looked up at him through watery eyes, more sage green now than hazel with her tears. "Will you kiss me now? Please?"

He smiled, and immediately obliged her. The weeks of not touching her caught up with him, and he kissed her with growing heat. "Let's go upstairs," he said hoarsely. She nodded, and he took her hand, leading her up and into his bedroom. He shut the door, took her into his arms again, his hands flying over her back, her bottom, her breasts, while his mouth took hers over and over until her legs grew weak and her hands grasped his shoulders for support.

He picked her up and carried her the short distance to the bed, laying her down gently on his blue comforter, only to follow her quickly, covering her body with his own. He resumed their deep, sensual kisses, while her impatient hands loosened his tie. She pulled his work shirt from his slacks, finding the hot, smooth skin of his stomach. His muscles tightened beneath her hand and he gasped, his own fingers busy at the buttons of her blouse.

Her full breasts encased in a simple white bra made him pause, pulse racing in his ears. She was more beautiful than he'd imagined, and he followed her blush as it cascaded from her cheeks down to her chest, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

"I have no words," he said, in awe. She didn't point out that he'd just used a few, and the darkness of his eyes told her plenty.

"Then quit trying," she said with a smile, "and help me get you out of those clothes."

**THE END**

**A/N: Thanks so much to those who read this fic. **


End file.
